Another Day, Another Case
by Shauna Lee
Summary: Ian finds a friend, Sara and Jake have a new case, and the witness is linked to Nottingham. Finished. As promised, more Ian and Sara. Please review.
1. Disclaimer

Standard disclaimer applies: I don't own Sara, Ian, Jake, or any other of the Witchblade characters. Top Cow owns them. I can only wish I was that creative. I can only lay claim to the incidental characters I made up to further the idea Witchblade has sparked in my head.  
  
Please review and let me know what you think. I am interested in honest and constructive criticism of my work, and if you like it, I'll post more. If I am merely deluded by my own ego into thinking I am any good, I won't torture you with more.  
  
Thanks! 


	2. Another day, another case

Allyson left the club quickly, not looking back, hoping that insulting pig of a guy wasn't going to come after her. She had no idea why she had slapped him. It wasn't something she would normally do. She'd just been so angry with him, with the things he had said when she refused to go back to his place with him. After all, its not like she had let him buy her any drinks or anything. He had no reason to feel she owed him anything. All they had done is talk a bit. Maybe he just thought he was so good looking and smooth women would fall all over themselves to go to bed with him. Whatever. She had no interest in someone like Jason.  
  
Her eyes started to tear as she remembered her ex-fiancée, remembered how badly he had hurt her. She had moved clear across the country to New York to get away from reminders, but memories popped up at odd times, causing her to catch her breath against the hurt. Ten years with someone is a long time, and she still hadn't gotten over him yet. But then it hadn't really been that long. Maybe moving all the way back to New York wasn't such a great idea, but she had promised herself a year here, and it had only been three months. She just couldn't get over how much the city she had grown up in as a child had changed. Or maybe it was that she wasn't seeing it through the eyes of a five year old child.  
  
She realized she had been walking without noticing where she was going, and turned around, not wanting to get lost. As she walked past an alley she heard raised voices and glanced over. Jason was glaring at a man in a long overcoat and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stopped involuntarily, watching, as Jason took a swing at the stranger, who moved so fast she couldn't see what he did. Whatever it was made Jason drop like a sack of grain. The stranger looked at Jason slumped over on the ground for a moment, then turned his head and looked straight into her eyes. She froze for a moment, staring back, struck by his unusual looks and manner, then she turned and hurried away.  
  
She stopped when she reached the front of the club she had left no more than ten minutes earlier and caught a cab home. All the way there she could still see the stranger's face in her mind. He had the most startling brown eyes, with a depth to them that frightened her for some reason, and a short beard covering an angular jaw. She would probably find him very attractive if he hadn't frightened her so badly. She bolted her door and picked up her cat, heading for the couch to watch some television before heading for bed.  
  
  
  
When Sara Pezzini got to work the next morning Jake handed her a cup of coffee with a look that said she's need it.  
  
"We got another case this morning," he told her. "In an alley two blocks from Club Maxis."  
  
"Why us?" Sara snarled, annoyed. "We're already swamped. Does Dante want to bury us in paperwork?"  
  
"I just know what I'm told," Jake said, trying to sound innocent and supportive at the same time.  
  
"At least I didn't take my jacket off," she replied ruefully. Jake gave a half-smile, getting used to her morning moods, and followed her out to the motor pool.  
  
"I'll drive so you can finish your coffee," he offered.  
  
"Thanks, Jake," she said, sliding into the passenger seat and taking another swig of coffee. "Sorry I'm so grumpy."  
  
"Still not sleeping," he asked, concerned, pulling out into traffic.  
  
"Not well," she admitted, wishing she could tell her partner more, but knowing he'd just think she was nuts.  
  
"You should see a doctor," he advised. "We're here."  
  
The mouth of the alley was crisscrossed with yellow tape, and people in uniforms were milling about, taking photos, collecting evidence, all the things that could be done until the detectives in charge arrived. Several greeted Sara by name as she slipped under the tape and approached the body.  
  
"What's the story, Briggs?" She looked down at the body, the head bent at an odd angle, bruises showing along his jaw.  
  
"Garbage man found him here this morning. He's probably been here all night." The uniformed cop told her. "His wallet, cash, and keys are all still here. Definitely not a robbery. Bartender from Maxis says he's a regular, but not a favorite, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Briggs."  
  
"Sure thing, Pez," he replied, walking off to talk to Jake as she knelt by the body. The Witchblade swirled and sighed, and Sara blinked, a vision assaulting her: in the club the victim arguing with an overweight blond, she slaps him; flash to outside in the alley, a dark figure slamming him against a wall, a glimpse of the assailant's face. She blinked again, jumping a little as Jake said something from behind her.  
  
"What, Jake," she asked, shaking her head to clear it.  
  
"I said do you want to grab another coffee before we go question the bartender," Jake replied with a grin. "I would guess the answer is yes."  
  
"You'd be right," Sara said, glad that her distractedness could be easily explained away as lack of sleep. They headed for the coffee stand across the street from the bar. "Grande mocha, extra shot, no whip," Sara told the girl behind the counter. Jake chuckled and ordered a large coffee. Sara glared at him. "What?"  
  
"Ever been to Seattle," Jake asked.  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"They order coffee like that all the time. You'd fit right in."  
  
"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically, but with humor. They took their drinks and headed for Maxis. The door was unlocked, and except for the man behind the bar it was empty.  
  
"Detective Pezzini," Sara said, showing her badge. "My partner, Detective McCarty."  
  
"Detectives," the bartender said by way of greeting. "I'm Max Cole. They told me to expect you. How can I help."  
  
"I understand you knew the man who was killed last night."  
  
"Jason Kingsman," Max affirmed. "Yeah, he was a regular. I never liked him, but he paid for his drinks, ya know?"  
  
"Do you know anything about him, where he worked, his friends," Sara asked. "Anyone who might have wanted him dead?"  
  
"I didn't ask questions, but rumor around the bar was that he liked to play the field. Different girl every time. Usually he'd pick up a girl and take her outta here by ten."  
  
"Pick up," Jake interjected. "As in meet someone new and persuade her to go home with him?"  
  
"Yup. Usually he was real successful. The guy was smooth, oily, ya know? Like a used car salesman. Heard mention of drugs a time or two. Nothing solid, mind you, more rumors."  
  
"Anything out of the ordinary last night," Sara asked.  
  
"As a matter of fact, he tried to put the moves on one of our other regulars last night, and she wasn't having any of it. He got insulting, she slapped him good and stormed out. After a minute he went after her. She has an open tab, left her credit card behind. Funny thing, though. All she drinks is Coke."  
  
"Coke? Huh. Then why come to a bar?" Jake looked confused.  
  
"She works at home with computers," Max replied. "She just likes to come out to be around people."  
  
"She tell you that," Sara asked. Max nodded. He handed over the credit card.  
  
"Since I figure you're gonna go question her anyway, could you please give her her card back? I don't know if she'll want to come back here to get it."  
  
"Sure. Thank you, Mr. Cole. You've been very helpful." 


	3. Old friends

A knock on her door startled Allyson and caused her cat to jump from her lap and scamper to the bedroom to hide. Boo-Kitty didn't like strangers, and always disappeared at the slightest hint of company. Saving off her current work on her computer, she rose and checked the peep hole to see who was outside. Catching sight of the badge hanging out of the jeans pocket of the blond man, she opened the door as far as the chain would allow to see what they wanted.  
  
"Can I help you," Allyson asked politely.  
  
"I'm Detective Pezzini, and this is Detective McCarty," Sara told her, holding up her badge for inspection. "Are you Allyson Carter?"  
  
"I am," Allyson affirmed, beginning to get alarmed.  
  
"We'd like to ask you a few questions about Jason Kingsman. May we come in?"  
  
"Sure, hold on a sec," she replied, closing the door enough to unhook the chain, then opened it wide and let the Detectives in. "Have a seat, if you'd like," Allyson offered, waving towards the couch. She pulled the chair from her computer desk over opposite and sat down herself. Sara paused, remembering something, and pulled the credit card out of her back pocket, handing it to Allyson before taking a seat next to Jake.  
  
"The bartender said you left that behind last night and asked me to give it to you," Sara said. Allyson's expression went from surprise to embarrassment as she glanced at the card, then slipped it into her own back pocket.  
  
"Thank you, Detective. I completely forgot about it."  
  
"Mr. Cole, the bartender at Maxis, said you're a regular there," Jake said in a way that was half question and half statement.  
  
"I suppose you could say that," she said.  
  
"Could you tell us what occurred last night between you and Mr. Kingsman," Sara asked.  
  
"Well, I had been there for about an hour already when he came over to my table and asked if I wanted some company. I said sure, and he proceeded to bore me for half an hour talking about himself. Then he suggested we go back to his place and have some fun…"  
  
"Have some fun?" Sara prompted for clarification.  
  
"I assume he meant sex," Allyson replied. "Although why he would choose me when there were plenty of good looking women in there prowling for dates… Anyway, I told him no, thanks, I didn't feel like going home with him. He got all snippy and said that I'd better take him up on his offer because no one else was likely to stoop to asking. I lost my temper and slapped him good, then left. I guess that's why I forgot my credit card. I was really upset."  
  
"Gee," Sara said sarcastically, "What a guy. So what happened next?"  
  
"I was walking pretty fast because I was upset and scared he was going to come after me. I wasn't really thinking straight because I had gone about six blocks before I realized I didn't really know where I was going. I turned around and headed back to the club, caught a cab, and came home."  
  
"And you didn't see Mr. Kingsman again," Jake asked.  
  
"No. Why? What's happened?"  
  
"He was found dead in an alley two blocks from the club this morning," Sara informed her.  
  
"Oh my God," Allyson said, shock registering on her face as she went pale.  
  
"Are you sure you didn't see him or anything," Jake prompted.  
  
"No. I'm sorry."  
  
The Witchblade swirled on Sara's wrist, and she got a brief vision of Allyson pausing at the mouth of the alley, Jason falling to the ground, and Nottingham turning to pin her with his stare before she fled. She blinked and started, coming back to the present to see Jake standing and holding out his card.  
  
"If you remember anything you think might help us, call," he was urging as she took his card. Sara stood too, following Jake to the door, Allyson coming along behind.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Carter," Sara said.  
  
"You're welcome, Detectives," she replied as they stepped out the door. She closed and locked it behind her, and then started to shake. She hadn't realized that strange man had actually killed Jason. She had seen him do it. Did that mean she was next? And why hadn't she said something to the cops about it. She had just left it out, without having even thought about it. Maybe it was self-preservation. Since she hadn't told the cops anything there was no reason for the killer to come after her.  
  
Doing her best to shrug off her fears she sat down at her computer and pulled up her latest contract. Soon she was absorbed in the challenges of coming up with the perfect balance of colors, text, pictures, and effects for the website she was building, and had pushed the whole thing out of her mind.  
  
  
  
Ian Nottingham watched from the shadows across the street as Sara and Jake exited the building. He knew the girl he had seen last night lived there. He already had a complete file on her, and intended to pay her a visit later tonight. But first he had some other business to attend to, business he found increasingly to his liking. He followed Sara back to the precinct, where he spent the rest of the day outside, lurking in the shadows. After her shift he followed her home, noting with amusement her stop for Chinese take-out from the little restaurant around the corner from her apartment building. He settled in to his usual vantage point on the fire escape, waiting until she headed for the bathroom for a shower after she had eaten, then slipped into the apartment and concealed himself in the shadows to wait until she came out and settled on the couch in front of the tv.  
  
She had just turned on the tv and sat back when something alerted her to his presence. Perhaps it was the Witchblade, perhaps her own instincts. Either way, she jumped up and spun to face him as he stepped out of the shadows behind the couch.  
  
"Damn it, Nottingham," she snapped. "Breaking and entering is a crime, you know."  
  
"I mean you no harm, Sara," he said softly, glancing up at her quickly before staring down at the floor again. "I only want to help you, if you will let me."  
  
"Help me like you helped Jason Kingsman," she asked pointedly. He glanced up at her with a hurt look in his eyes.  
  
"I would never hurt you, Sara," he assured her.  
  
"Why did you kill Kingsman," she asked.  
  
"Did the girl tell you that," he asked.  
  
"No, actually, she didn't," Sara snarled, frustrated. "This did," she held up the Witchblade. "And if she won't admit she saw anything I can't prove it was you. What did you do to her to make her cover your back?"  
  
"I have done nothing to her, Sara. I have not spoken with her at all. But that is not why I came. I came to suggest you go check out Kingsman's house. Thoroughly."  
  
"Yeah?" Sara was skeptical. "Why is that?"  
  
"If you go you will discover the answer for yourself."  
  
"Why is it I can never get a straight answer out of you or Irons?" she demanded, getting pissed off.  
  
"Long is the road to enlightenment, Sara," he said. She snorted, half amused, half annoyed.  
  
"You sound like Danny," she said.  
  
"Surely a compliment," he said with a little bow. When he straightened he met her eyes for a moment, a small smile playing about his lips, then turned and was gone. She was left standing, staring at the shadows where he had been, wondering why she didn't shoot him when he pulled this crap. And she wondered why she felt good about making him smile, even a little. She had never seen him smile before, she realized. Sighing, she sat back down on the couch to watch tv, certain she wouldn't be bothered again that night.  
  
  
  
Ian made his way up the fire escape to Allyson's window and peered cautiously inside. She was absorbed in whatever project she was working on at her computer, completely oblivious to anything else. He let himself in silently and was two steps into the room before her cat hissed at him and launched violently out of her lap, running into the bedroom to hide. Allyson looked up finally, startled, and saw him. Before she could scream or do anything else Ian was at her side with one hand over her mouth and another wrapped around her throat. She froze, terrified.  
  
"Hush," he said softly into her ear. "Do not scream. I don't want to have to hurt you." She managed to nod that she understood, and he let her go. She spun to face him, backing up until her shoulders hit the mantle above her fireplace. He followed, keeping a mere step's distance between them.  
  
"What do you want," she managed to ask, her voice shaking.  
  
"Why did you not tell the police about me," he asked.  
  
"I…I'm not sure," she replied. "I just found myself leaving it out."  
  
"You expect me to believe that," he asked.  
  
"It's the truth," she said, looking him in the eyes. He stared back for a few moments, then stepped away from her and glanced around the apartment. His eye caught a picture on the mantle, framed simply in silver, of two children, a boy and a girl. He realized something about that picture had been subconsciously bothering him since he first glanced around the place. It finally clicked that he recognized the little boy and girl. He looked again at Allyson, who was watching him stare at the picture.  
  
"Where did you get that," he asked.  
  
"My mother took it. I was five. That's me and my best friend, Ian, right before Mother got fired and we moved to Seattle. Why?" He had a peculiar look on his face as he turned to her.  
  
"Lissy," he asked, using her childhood nickname. Her jaw dropped.  
  
"Ian?" He nodded. "Oh my God! It's been over twenty years." Then her expression turned indignant. "You never wrote me back. I sent letters for years, and you never answered. You promised you'd write as soon as I sent my address."  
  
"I never got your letters, Lissy. Irons must have kept them from me."  
  
Oh, Ian," she cried and threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you." Taken by surprise, he just stood there for a minute while she clung to him, unsure what to do. Hesitantly, he raised his arms and hugged her gently back.  
  
"I missed you too," he whispered into her hair. After a few minutes he pulled back, and she let go. "I have to go. You won't change your story with the police, will you?"  
  
"Of course not," she said. "But promise me you'll come back soon. I want to know how you've been."  
  
"I'll try," he replied, slipping out onto the fire escape.  
  
"Next time use the door," she advised with a smile. "It freaks out my cat less."  
  
Ian was laughing as he slid the window closed and slipped off into the night.  
  
  
  
Kenneth Irons was in the middle of a solitary dinner when the call came through.  
  
"The potential witness is taken care of," Ian said from the other end of the line.  
  
"Good," Irons replied shortly. "Has the fair Sara been given my advice?"  
  
"I believe she will investigate Kingsman's house tomorrow," Ian replied.  
  
"We should expect the good detective to drop by tomorrow to question me then," Irons mused smugly. All was going according to plan. The only potential fly in the ointment had been the witness, and Ian had taken care of her. "Come home, Ian." He broke the connection. 


	4. Of Detectives and Dogs

This story is definitely fun to write, since I have no idea when I sit down to a new chapter where the characters are going to take me. I wrote the first part over 2 months ago and it sat, staring at me from my documents folder. Then I published it here last Monday, and that night chapter 2 just slipped out my fingers. I am glad you are liking it, and thanks to you 3 who have reviewed so far. Especially Divamercury, since I have really enjoyed your stuff. And now to see where Ian and Sara take me tonight…  
  
  
  
Sara walked into the precinct the next morning with a plan of action in mind. Having decided to take Nottingham's suggestion at face value, she finished off her morning java, rounded up Jake, and they headed out to the address Jake had dug up on Jason Kingsman the day before. It was an ordinary looking house, in need of a new coat of gray paint, in a pleasant middle-income neighborhood. The grass needed mowing and weeding, dandelions beginning to take over, reminding Sara why she had never cared for yards, but the roses planted in front of the first floor windows were beautiful.  
  
"His file said he was single," Jake said. "No mention of wife or kids."  
  
"There could still be a roommate," Sara reminded him.  
  
"Maybe we should have gotten a warrant," Jake suggested wryly.  
  
"Way ahead of you, Rookie," Sara told him, pulling a tri-fold sheaf of papers out of her back pocket and handing it to him. "I made the calls last night, and had it waiting for me this morning."  
  
"Cool," he said absently, looking the papers over to see everything was in order.  
  
"Shall we," she asked, smugly amused.  
  
"Let's do it," was his reply as they walked up onto the porch. He knocked. A dog started barking from inside, but no other sound was heard. They waited about a minute, then Sara rang the bell, eliciting a renewed frenzy of barking from the dog. Still no one came to the door. Sara tried the knob and found it locked.  
  
"Sara," Jake said quietly, nudging her. She turned and followed his gaze to the elderly lady walking her toy poodle out on the sidewalk. The lady had stopped and was watching them with undisguised curiosity. Sara muttered a quick "stay here" to Jake and stepped off the porch to approach the lady. She pulled out her badge and showed the lady, who leaned close to look at it.  
  
"I'm Detective Pezzini," Sara said a little louder than normal. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"  
  
"Gracious no, dear," the lady said, smiling. "Go right ahead."  
  
"Thank you, ma'am." Sara nodded. "Do you live around here?"  
  
"Oh my, yes. And call me Grace. I've lived on this block for fifty-two years."  
  
"Do you know the gentleman who lives there," she asked, pointing to the gray house where Jake waited on the porch.  
  
"Not well. He doesn't come out of his house much, except to walk Angel, his golden retriever. And sometimes to get the mail or admire his roses."  
  
"Do you know if he lived alone?"  
  
"He does have quite a bit of company from time to time but no one permanent. Young girls," Grace said with disapproval in her tone. Sara nodded. That tallied with what the bartender had told them. Then Grace tilted her head questioningly. "You said 'lived alone' Detective," Grace pointed out. "Has something happened to him?"  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Sara said politely. "I'm not at liberty to say." Inwardly she cursed herself for her slip-up, glad Jake was out of earshot.  
  
"It must be bad then," Grace said philosophically. "He's passed, then, hasn't he?"  
  
"I really can't say," Sara said, a bit regretfully. Grace was such a nice lady, and Sara disliked having to take that stance with her. "Thank you for your help, ma'am."  
  
"You're welcome, Detective. Come along, Trixie," she said to her poodle, and continued her walk, glancing back at Sara over her shoulder a few times. Sara waited until she had rounded the corner at the end of the block, then went back up to where Jake was waiting a bit impatiently.  
  
"So, what'd she say," he asked as she rejoined him on the porch.  
  
"Kingsman lived alone, had many female visitors, and only came out with Angel," Sara recapped.  
  
"Angel?" Jake looked confused.  
  
"His golden retriever."  
  
"Oh," Jake said, his expression softening for a moment. "How do we get in?"  
  
"I don't want to kick in the door unless I have to," Sara said. "Lets check for keys, open windows. You know the drill."  
  
"Right." He began poking around the porch, lifting the doormat, while Sara began circling the house, checking the windows as she went. Jake finished with the porch and circled around back the opposite direction. He stopped at the entrance to the back yard, a chain-link fence enclosing the whole back lawn and a dog house. Sara was on the other side, watching Angel standing on the back porch, growling.  
  
"No luck," she asked across the yard.  
  
"Nope," he responded.  
  
"Hang on, I'm coming around," she told him, then headed back to the front yard. She joined him a minute later where the dog was now watching him, but not growling. "We have to do something about the dog before we can get in, no matter how we get in," she said, noting the dog flap in the back door.  
  
"Let me try something," Jake said, and before she could stop him he opened the gate and walked in confidently. "Angel," he called. "Here girl. Let's be friends." He held his hand down low, and Angel's tail started wagging. The dog trotted down the steps and up to Jake as if they were old pals, snuffling his hand then licking his face. Jake laughed and scratched her ears vigorously. "C'mon in, Pez," he said. "She won't bother you, will you, girl," he said, finishing with her ears and working on her belly when Angel rolled over on the grass.  
  
"How'd you do that," Sara demanded, impressed, as she came up to him.  
  
"I've raised retrievers most of my life," Jake said. "They just want to be loved and fussed over. If you do that, they'll be your friend for life." He had a dopey grin on his face as he patted Angel's belly and rose. The dog trailed him as he went up on the porch and tried the back door. It wasn't locked. Angel pushed it wide open with her nose, and went in. Jake and Sara drew their guns and followed cautiously. The place was nicely furnished, but not too extravagantly. They searched the main floor in only a few minutes.  
  
"You go up, I'll go down," Sara said at the foot of the stairs. He nodded and went up, Angel following at his heels. Sara grinned and headed back to the kitchen where the basement stairs were. She flipped on the light and headed cautiously down, listening for any indication there was someone down here. The room she was in was small, and cluttered with boxes. She glanced over them, finding only the usual junk, and moved to the door at the other end of the room. It had a deadbolt lock and a doorknob lock. Sara was willing to lay good money that what they had come to find was behind that door. She went back up to the main level and called for Jake, who came rattling down the stairs with the dog in tow.  
  
"Find something," he asked.  
  
"Yup," she replied.  
  
"Good, 'cause there isn't anything upstairs." He followed her down, but the dog stayed at the top of the basement stairs, sitting quietly. She pointed to the double-locked door and he whistled. "That's a lot of security."  
  
"Wanna bet he wasn't hoarding the family silver in there," Sara asked.  
  
"How do we get in," he asked.  
  
"Power tools," she told him after studying the door a few more moments. "Grab that drill kit and a power cord from over there," she pointed to a pile of boxes in front of a workbench. He retrieved them and plugged in the extension while she fit a bit into the drill. It took a few minutes, and a few extra holes, but she managed to drill out the screws from the other side and pop off the bolt lock housing and the knob. It was Jake's turn to be impressed.  
  
"How did you know how to do that," he asked, watching closely over her shoulder as she worked the locks open.  
  
"Danny lost his keys one night and he had to call a locksmith out. Since he wanted a new set of locks anyway, the locksmith didn't waste any time trying to pick the bolt and just drilled it out. I watched him and asked questions."  
  
"It wasn't my fault, you know," Danny said from behind Jake. Sara managed not to jump. "You insisted we go to that bar, and you let that guy pick a fight. I lost them watching your back." She ignored him, but her lips twitched as she tried not to smile, remembering.  
  
Pushing the door open, she felt around for a switch, flipping the lights on. What the harsh, clinical light revealed looked like a laboratory of some sort. Tubes and beakers with powders and liquids were all neatly labeled and lined up, and there were vials in a rack. Sara located the file cabinet and started rifling through folders while Jake read labels and poked into cupboard doors.  
  
"Jake," Sara said. "Listen to this. 'Subject experienced increased heartbeat and body temperature. She reported feeling dizzy, and described seeing tracers across her vision not unlike PCP. Heart rate and body temperature raised beyond control, and subject went into cardiac arrest. Too strong a dose.' Sounds like he was experimenting on those girls he was bringing home."  
  
"Yeah. Sick bastard. What's our move?"  
  
"We call in a forensics and drug team and go back upstairs to wait for them," she replied. "This is out of our league."  
  
"I'll buy that," he replied. They went back to the kitchen and made the call. An hour later the house was crawling with investigators.  
  
"Well, Detectives," the head of the forensics team told them, "Your initial guess was right. He was working on recreational drugs in his lab. Stuff so new it isn't illegal yet, but would have been in short order."  
  
"Could you identify traces of the drugs in the blood of a corpse," Sara asked. "We have several bodies in the morgue who could be this guy's victims."  
  
"Chances are good. Want me to cross-check with Vicki and get back to you?"  
  
"That would be great," Sara said. "We have several cases we may be able to close if there's some matches."  
  
"I'll fill Vic in and have her get back to you."  
  
"Thanks," Sara said. "Let's get out of here, Jake."  
  
"What about Angel, Pez," Jake asked, looking down at the dog, who was leaning against his leg.  
  
"Animal Control will come get her," she said.  
  
"Animal Control!" He was dismayed. "Can't I take her?"  
  
"I guess," Sara ventured. "As long as you let them know you have her, so if any family shows up and wants her they know where she is."  
  
"Sure thing, Pez. C'mon Angel," he called the dog, and they headed out to the car together. Sara followed with a bemused look on her face. Who would have thought Detective McCarty had a soft spot for dogs? Then again, there was that picture of him she had seen at his place with that other golden retriever…  
  
"Lunch," he asked as she slid into the passenger seat, Angel already laying down on the back seat.  
  
"Something quick," she replied. "I have a few more things I want to look into on this case."  
  
"Like what," he asked as they pulled away.  
  
"Like Kingsman's employment history, and schooling. Where did he learn to do lab work? And why was he doing illegal research and killing people when he could have been working for a legitimate company?"  
  
"I can answer that one," Jake said. "He used to work for Vorschlag, developing drugs for the military, and got fired last year."  
  
"You've been busy," Sara said, wondering yet again just what connections Jake had that he could get files and information she couldn't access.  
  
"I woke up early, so I came in and did some research," he said, shrugging it off.  
  
"Military, huh?" Sara mused. "Black Dragons?"  
  
"Probably. Vorschlag has had several military contracts over the years."  
  
"Looks like it's time to pay Kenneth Irons another visit." Sara grimaced. She was really starting to find the billionaire's overly-smooth attitude annoying. Then again, she might catch Nottingham smiling again. Shaking her head, unsure where that thought had come from, she turned to pet Angel as Jake navigated traffic back into the city. 


	5. ...Beginning of a beautiful friendship

This has taken me longer than the other 2 chapters, mostly because what I have been coming up with has been absolute drivel. My muse abandoned me for a time, and I couldn't get the conversations quite right. I am hoping the wait (and all the rewrites) was worth it. Please let me know!  
  
  
  
"Hey Jake," Sara said as they drove through the city streets back towards the precinct. "Swing by Vorschlag. We might as well question Irons about Kingsman now."  
  
"Sounds good," he replied. "Then we'll have time for a nice lunch for a change." They were silent for a minute as he drove, then, "You think Irons will tell us anything?"  
  
"Of course not," Sara snorted. "But at least it will be over with."  
  
"I bet he just confirms what's in the files and says he really didn't know the guy."  
  
"I don't think I want to take that bet," she replied, amused.  
  
Jake parked the car and they headed through the lobby up to Irons' office. The secretary, as usual, just passed them though with the usual comment about being expected. The doors of Irons' office swung silently open of their own accord as the two detectives approached. It used to impress Sara until she recalled the grocery store doors do the same thing, they're just less expensive and classy. She hung back, letting Jake take the lead as they stepped into the office, so she could look around.  
  
Irons was seated behind his desk, studying something on his computer screen. Ian was standing two paces behind his right shoulder, studying his shoes as usual. As Irons looked up and greeted the detectives Sara saw Ian glance up at them from under his hair. She cocked an eyebrow at him, humor in her eyes, as her gaze met his. His lips twitched towards a smile for a moment, then he returned to studying his shoes.  
  
"How can I help you, Detectives," Irons was saying, distant and formal but still trying to appear charming and cooperative. Jake glanced at Sara and she took a half-step forward.  
  
"We came to ask you a few questions about an ex-employee of yours," she said. "Jason Kingsman."  
  
"Ah yes, Kingsman," Irons replied, allowing a small frown to dip his eyebrows. "I heard about his death. Tragic."  
  
"He worked for you, didn't he," Sara prompted.  
  
"He was a brilliant chemist and I was sorry to have to let him go," Irons said, being unusually forthcoming, with none of his usual riddles. Maybe it was because she wasn't here alone, she mused. "Unfortunately, he was using the Vorschlag laboratory to develop his own substances. I had to let him go. That was over a year ago."  
  
"What kinds of substances," Jake asked. Irons frowned at him, then turned back to deliver his answer to Sara.  
  
"Recreational drugs. Hallucinogens, acid, that sort of thing. He was using the test subjects cleared for our military research for his private creations. I imagine once word got out no one would hire him."  
  
"He didn't work on the Black Dragon project, by any chance," Sara asked, glancing at Ian briefly.  
  
"Some of Kingsman's best work," Irons affirmed with a slight smile. "As I said, he was quite brilliant. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of it, and his arrogance was his downfall."  
  
"Do you have any idea why," Sara paused for emphasis, "someone would want him dead?"  
  
"Perhaps he was competition to the local drug lords," Irons mused. "Perhaps some irate man objected to him picking up an ex-girlfriend. Perhaps he was simply mugged. Isn't it your job to figure that out, Detective?" Sara reacted to the subtle insult by putting both hands on Irons' desk and leaning close.  
  
"Perhaps I already have, Mr. Irons," she growled softly. "And I just wanted to hear what you would say." She stared him in the eye for a moment longer, then straightened up, turned, and headed out of the office, Jake falling into step with her as they exited. Irons stared after her for a moment.  
  
"Does she really know," Irons asked Ian.  
  
"The Witchblade showed her," Ian admitted. "But she has no real evidence without the witness."  
  
"Indeed," Irons mused. "Go. Watch her."  
  
Ian inclined his head respectfully and stalked out of the room. As soon as he was out of Irons' sight, he smiled briefly. He found more and more he enjoyed Sara's defiance when it came to Irons. Somebody needed to tell Irons "no" once in a while, and Ian knew he didn't have the strength to yet. But that may be changing, he thought to himself, as he made his way across ton to keep an eye on the lovely Sara while she and her partner had lunch at the Chinese place near the precinct. After seeing Irons they had made a quick detour to the store for dog food and other pet supplies, and then Jake had run Angel up to his apartment.  
  
"So you're saying you think Irons had something to do with Kingsman's murder," Jake said over chicken teriyaki. Sara nodded, finishing her mouthful of pork fried rice before responding.  
  
"I'd bet my badge on it," she said. "He's got his fingers into everything. Kingsman probably knew something that Irons didn't want to get out. But without a witness we can't really do anything about it, unless forensics comes up with something for us to go on." She knew there would be nothing useful in the forensics report. Nottingham was too careful. For once, she was more relieved by that than frustrated. Kingsman deserved to be taken out before he killed another poor girl, and she didn't really think Nottingham deserved to be punished for it. After all, she was betting Kingsman was responsible for at least three of her other unsolved cases, and she hadn't been even close to solving them. How many more women would have had to die before he finally slipped up and got caught if Nottingham hadn't stepped in?  
  
"Not that I'm sorry to see the guy dead," Jake said. "But we can't have vigilantes out there administering their own justice."  
  
"I'm with you on that, partner," she said, refilling her tea. As she put the teapot back down she got the odd tingle at the back of her neck that meant she was being watched. She caught Nottingham sitting at a table in the shadowy back corner of the restaurant and had to hide a smile. Her own personal stalker was sitting nonchalantly drinking tea. Somehow it just didn't seem right, and she fought down the sudden urge to giggle, not wanting to have to explain it to Jake.  
  
They discussed minor details of the case while finishing their meal, then returned to the precinct to see if the coroner's report was ready. Dante caught them on the way in, summoning them to his office, mispronouncing her name like usual. Figuring he was doing it solely to piss her off, she pretended not to notice like every other time.  
  
"Vicki Po sent up the report on your drug dealer," he said. "Six of your cases, two of Burgess', and one of Orlinski's are connected to this guy." He handed a file folder to Sara. "Unfortunately, there's nothing in the report to help you find out who killed him. So, consider the case closed, and work on some of your other cases that deserve the attention." He stared at Sara, expecting her to argue, anticipating it, even.  
  
"Sure thing, Captain," she said with a smile, completely throwing off Dante. "I was thinking that myself."  
  
"Well," he fumbled, trying to recover. He had been looking forward to throwing his rank in her face again. "Go work on some of that paper piling up on your desk. Dismissed."  
  
They walked out, heading for their office. Sara handed the report to Jake after glancing it over. She went for more coffee, bringing him back a cup too. Not for the first time she considered buying a cheap coffee maker for her office, so she could have something other than the industrial strength paint thinner that passed for coffee around there.  
  
"Well," Jake said as she handed him a cup, nodding his thanks. "At least we can get half a dozen folders off our desks tonight. You take three, I'll take three, we can be done in plenty of time for the end of our shift."  
  
"Sure," she agreed, taking the top 3 names off the list and sitting down to her least favorite aspect of police work. No, make that second least, since Joe retired. She pushed that thought away, missing him, and concentrated on her paperwork. She and Jake finished about the same time, with ten minutes to spare until shift's end. Sara was relieved when Jake offered to drop the files off with Dante, glad she didn't have to hear her name butchered one more time today.  
  
"Wanna go for some pool, knock back a few brews," Jake asked as he gathered up the files.  
  
"Sorry, Jake," She said, turning him down yet again. He got high marks for persistence, though. "I'm beat. I'm just gonna go home and try to catch up on my sleep." She gave him an apologetic smile, and he shrugged.  
  
"Alright," he said, managing to leave most of the consonants out of the word somehow. Surfer speak, she figured with a mental chuckle. "I know you haven't been sleeping well. Just take care, okay Sara?"  
  
"Thanks Jake," she smiled. "I will. See ya tomorrow." She grabbed her jacket and helmet off the rack and headed out as he took the files to Dante's office.  
  
Ian knew when Sara headed out of the office and began trailing her home discreetly. He was surprised when she didn't head straight home, but went to Allyson's apartment building. Climbing swiftly up the fire escape, he positioned himself so he could see the front door through the window. Allyson was working on the computer, her fingers flying over the keys as she coded a web page. Boo-Kitty was on her lap, asleep. At the knock on Allyson's door the cat 's head snapped up, and then he vanished into the bedroom. Allyson chuckled and went to check her peep hole, unlocking the door when she recognized Sara.  
  
"Good evening, Detective," Allyson said as Sara came in. "Make yourself comfortable. Coffee?"  
  
"Please. And call me Sara."  
  
"Hm," Allyson mused as she poured a cup of coffee for her visitor. "That's not very official. You're not here to ask me more questions about Jason's death, are you?"  
  
"No, actually," Sara paused, uncomfortable, then took a deep breath and went on. "I'm here to ask you about Ian Nottingham." Allyson froze in mid- motion, then turned to look at her suspiciously.  
  
"I'm not sure I understand, Detective," Allyson said, setting the coffee down in front of Sara with a thump, her attitude now coldly formal.  
  
"Look," Sara said. "I know you saw Ian Nottingham kill Jason Kingsman. Since you refused to admit you saw it, I have no evidence to accuse him with, so the case is officially closed and will remain so as far as I'm concerned. What Ian did was take out a killer who preyed on lonely young women before he could hurt anyone else. We've been trying to solve that case for months. I could wish he had come to me with the information and let me follow up, but I understand why he didn't."  
  
"Ian is a friend of yours?" Allyson interjected when Sara paused for breath.  
  
"Yeah," Sara replied. "In a way. You know him?"  
  
"I did, once," she replied.  
  
"Is that why you didn't tell me what you saw when we questioned you about the murder?"  
  
"No, actually," she said. "I didn't know it was him until later. I was five years old last time I saw him. I just didn't want the killer coming after me. And he did, later that night, to warn me to keep my mouth shut. But he recognized the picture I have of us on my mantle…" She rose to retrieve the picture, and Sara wondered if the computer programming business paid well, since apartments with fireplaces, even small ones, weren't cheap. Allyson handed her the picture and she studied it.  
  
Two children sat at the bottom of a set of stairs outdoors. The little girl in the picture was recognizably Allyson: hair a lighter blond-red, in pigtails, but the eyes were the same. She was laughing and had her arm around the little boy's shoulders. The little boy was older and taller, but hunched over so his friend could reach up to his shoulders. He had a playful but shy grin on his face, and his eyes were clear deep brown as he stared directly into the camera. Sara touched the face in the photo gently with the tip of her finger, thinking that Ian had been a beautiful child.  
  
"You grew up with him," Sara asked finally.  
  
"My mother worked for Kenneth Irons, as one of the housekeeping staff, and I lived in the servant's quarters with her. My dad died before I was born, by about two months, so it was just the two of us. Mr. Irons mostly ignored me, and I made sure to stay out of his way. But Ian was always getting in trouble for sneaking away from his lessons to come play with me. Mom got fired when I was five, and found another job in Seattle. After we moved I wrote Ian, but he never got the letters. He thinks Mr. Irons burned them."  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised," Sara said wryly. "What was he like as a boy?"  
  
"He worshipped Mr. Irons, and would do anything to please him," Allyson recalled. "When he got in trouble I think the fact that he had disappointed Mr. Irons was worse to him than the beatings."  
  
"Beatings?" Sara's gaze grew murderous.  
  
"Oh, nothing worse than what your average farm boy would get, I expect. At least not that I ever saw. He was my best friend, and I've never had a friend that good since."  
  
"Can you tell me anything about Irons," Sara asked.  
  
"Not much," Allyson replied. "As I said, I was only five, and no one ever explains things to a five year old child. I wasn't allowed in the main house, anyway. I stuck to the servant's wing and the grounds. There was one weird thing I heard, though, and I still haven't been able to puzzle it out. I think it was some strange fairy tale that Mr. Irons was telling Ian. He had this cool bracelet that he kept locked up under glass, and he would tell Ian stories about all these women who wore it and how it helped them be heroes. I've never heard it mentioned in any book of fairy tales I've seen, so I guess it was just Mr. Irons' way of teaching Ian history."  
  
"Did you see the bracelet," Sara asked, unconsciously rubbing the Witchblade through her sleeve.  
  
"Nope, but Ian told me about it." She smiled wistfully. "He loved to entertain me with his stories."  
  
They sat in silence a few minutes, Allyson remembering and Sara staring at the picture. After a while Sara rose, handing the picture back to Allyson and heading for the door.  
  
"Thanks for talking with me," Sara said. "I should let you get back to work."  
  
"Quite all right," Allyson replied earnestly. "I'm glad to meet another one of Ian's friends, and I needed the break from work anyway. Come by again soon. I'd like to talk more."  
  
"I'll do that," Sara said, surprised to find she meant it, and was actually looking forward to it. She walked out of the apartment, hearing the door close and lock behind her. She thought about what Allyson had said about Ian, and the picture of the shy, cheerful little boy he had been. Somewhere on her way down in the elevator Sara realized she didn't despise Ian. She analyzed her feelings and discovered she didn't dislike him at all. She thought about how antagonistic she had been with him, even after he had saved her life more than once, and finally admitted to herself that it was a defense mechanism, and had nothing to do with Ian at all. She was introspective all the way home.  
  
Out on Allyson's fire escape, Ian pondered what he had heard. It had worried him when Sara had returned here. He had assumed Sara was going to try to get the girl to admit she had seen him so Sara could charge him with something. He was surprised to hear the case was closed and Sara had no intention on following up. Relieved, too. Then she had started asking about him. It confused him. He was so used to her scorn that he took it for granted that she disliked him. He figured she thought of him merely as an extension of Irons, not an individual, and it was true enough as far as it went. But sometimes he wished she would see him differently. When she had looked at his childhood picture for so long, he began to wonder if maybe there was hope after all.  
  
He turned and descended to the street, shadowing her home and taking up his usual surveillance post outside her window. She was heating up leftovers from the night before. The tv was on, and the screech and wail of guitars streamed out from the music video channel. It must be the Metal Hour, Ian mused as he listened. Sara sang along absently as she waited for her food to finish warming, nodding her head in time with the music. She seemed happy, relaxed for a change, and he found himself smiling as he watched her. She came over to the window and yanked it open, catching him off guard. He stared at her, and she grinned back, pleased at surprising him.  
  
"Hey, Ian," she said, her tone friendly. "Want some pork fried rice?"  
  
"I should not, Sara," he replied, nervous for some reason.  
  
"Sure you should," she replied. "I don't want to eat alone tonight."  
  
He thought about it for a minute, and figured that as long as she knew he was there anyway, he could watch her more easily from the kitchen than the fire escape. He slipped inside, quiet and graceful as a panther, and bowed his head. She closed the window and looked at him for a minute while he studied his shoes.  
  
"Hey, Ian?" she said. He glanced up at her from under his curtain of curls. "Could you please not stare at the floor tonight?" He blinked, nonplussed, then slowly raised his head to look her straight in the eyes. She grinned at him, and he smiled shyly back. He looked at that moment so like the little boy in the picture, shy and beautiful, that she forgot to breathe for a second.  
  
"As you wish, Sara," he replied.  
  
"Thanks, Ian," she said. "Come sit down." She gestured to the couch, and as he seated himself she pulled the little white boxes of Chinese take-out from the microwave and piled them up on two plates, grabbed forks from the drawer, and joined him on the couch. There was companionable silence as they dished food onto their plates and began eating. Ian kept trying to study Sara without being obvious, wondering what she was up to. Sara caught him at it and burst out laughing. Ian looked confused.  
  
"Sorry, Ian," she said. "Its just, you had this look on your face like the bird waiting for the cat to pounce, and it occurred to me that you are usually the cat."  
  
"I am wondering why you asked me in," Sara," he admitted. Her expression turned serious.  
  
"Because I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," she said bluntly. He blinked, not understanding.  
  
"Sorry for what, Sara?"  
  
"For being such a bitch to you, for starters. And for never saying thanks when you save my ass." She put her plate down. "I have lost so many people lately, and I'm afraid to make new friends, to come to care about anyone, because I don't want to lose anyone else I care about. It just hurts too much. So I distance myself by being a bitch." She looked him in the eyes. "I hope you can forgive me, Ian. And I hope we can be friends from now on. Or at least something less than enemies." Ian stared at he, trying to sort through the tumble of thoughts in his head and swirl of emotions in his heart. Slowly, he reached out and took her hand in his gloved one and looked deep into her eyes.  
  
"I forgive you, Sara. And I would very much like to be friends."  
  
Her smile dazzled him, and hope bubbled in his heart. And from somewhere deep in his chest a laugh burst forth. Sara had never heard him laugh before, and she laughed too, glad to have been the one to cause such a thing. She resolved to make him laugh often, her new friend. And somehow, just knowing that from now on it would be a friend watching over her and protecting her back, someone she could talk with, made the weight of the world seem just a bit lighter.  
  
  
  
End 


End file.
